The True Story of Sybill Trelawney
by rhitmcshanm
Summary: An unconventional HGSS romance. Sybill Trelawney's background is not what you think it is... discover what her life was really like! reposted to edit format


The True Story of Sybill Trelawney (REPOST) 

Disclaimer: Do you really think these characters belong to me? Thought not. Be nice though wouldn't it? Then I wouldn't have to write a disclaimer. But they belong to J.K. Rowling and any other corporate entity that I have forgotten. 

Author: rhitmcshanm (rhitmcshanm@juno.com) 

Huge (gigantic) thanks to inque_black for beta-ing this and starlatt for adding the final coat of polish! 

Rating: …let's go with…PG-13 

Summary: An unconventional HG/SS story. Hermione gets lost in time due to a Time-Turner accident. What if she can't return? How will she cope? 

If the idea of Severus and Hermione together triggers an "EWW!!" reaction in you, you should consider reading a different story. 

***Reposted to edit format and several typos. Author notes at the end. 

* The True Story of Sybill Trelawney * 

I stared down at the deserted grounds of the school. The rooms at the top of the tallest tower were remote and cramped, but they did have one positive perk. An uninterrupted, three hundred and sixty degree, bird's–eye view of the school was perfect for contemplation. And it was the only way I could really keep an eye on what was happening outside of the school. 

I glanced at the timepiece. Today was the day. My self-imposed isolation was almost at an end. I set an alarm and sat down at my desk. It was time to start. I pulled out my favorite quill and inkwell and unrolled a sheet of parchment. My story must be told. 

*** 

My name is Sybill Trelawney, Divination Teacher at Hogwarts. 

But I was not born with that name. I was once known by another. 

There is no such person as Sybill Trelawney. She is a figment of my imagination, made real by circumstances beyond my control. 

This is my story. 

*** 

The first paragraphs came easily. They were simple facts with few emotions attached. My hand clenched the quill, and once again, I wished there were an easier way to do this. Or some way not to do it at all. The hard part was yet to come. 

*** 

My story begins at the start of my sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. School had been in session for over a month, and already I was far ahead of my classmates. The year was shaping up just like every other. No boyfriend—not that I really needed one…but it would have been nice. Extra credit homework assignments and late nights in the library were already routine. Also unchanged was Quidditch obsession—not mine, but others. All Harry and Ron talked about for the past few weeks was the game; though, lately Harry had been talking about how excited he was that his godfather would be visiting in a week. The two boys never changed. I was glad of this, but also quite saddened. I had stopped hoping at least one of them would see as more than a friend sometime in my fifth year. I had been made prefect, thus earning my own room and other special privileges—privileges like staying out past curfew. On this particular night—early morning, rather—I was working away on my Arithmancy homework, diligently trying to use math to predict the future. My quill scratched across the parchment, the only sound in the otherwise deserted library. Finally, I finished. I stretched my arms to get the kinks out of my shoulders and set fate into motion. 

The "accident" occurred with no warning. It was caused by a combination of clumsiness, personal error, and extreme misfortune. It was of a magnitude that even Neville Longbottom couldn't, in all his accident-prone years, hope to achieve. It involved a Time-Turner, my Arithmancy homework, and a vial of wormwood. I had been granted the use of a Time-Turner to fit a few extra classes into my schedule. The wormwood was for the headache I was sure to have by the time I finished the homework. The instructions that come with the Time-Turner say quite plainly: Do Not Use Around Other Forms Of Magic. Unexpected Results May Occur. I am ashamed to admit that I though I read the instructions, I forgot about this little warning. It was that moment of forgetfulness that forever altered my life. 

I upset the not-tightly-stoppered vial of wormwood. It in turn knocked the Time-Turner onto my Arithmancy homework. The combination of these three magical items, all of different types, made for some "unexpected results." Unexpected doesn't quite define it. 

There was a flash of bright red light, as though my homework had spontaneously combusted. I heard a loud pop, and I felt as though I were drifting off my chair through the air. The feeling lasted only a few moments, and I was again sitting in the Hogwart's library. 

But it was not the library I remembered. 

The sun was shining through the windows; it was the middle of the day now, and not the middle of the night as it had been moments before. _Merlin, I swore silently. I stood up and glanced down at the table. It was empty. Wherever—whenever—I was, my homework—and, more importantly, the Time-Turner—had not come with me. I walked towards the door, deciding it would be prudent to how far I had jumped. _

The library was still as deserted as it had been, even the ever-present Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen. Realizing that the books would be unlikely to answer my questions, I left the library. 

The hallways were empty. Puzzled, I looked around. There were always far too many noisy students when one didn't want them around, but when a student—any student—was needed… 

"Where is everyone?" I asked one of the paintings. It didn't answer. _The students__ are all probably in class, I thought, trying my best to find an explanation for the castle's apparent desertion. _

I was disabused of this notion when I literally ran into the first person I saw, a boy approximately my age. I stumbled and nearly fell. Luckily, the boy caught me in time. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked as he steadied me. 

"I was in the library…" I began. I looked more closely at him and realized that he wasn't familiar. He had brown shaggy hair and a prefects badge. I had thought I knew every student in the fifth, sixth, and seventh years—at least by sight. And I was certain I knew all the prefects. "Who are you?" I asked. 

"Who are you?" he asked right back, eyeing me suspiciously. 

"Hermi - Mya Ranger." I said quickly supplied. I didn't know why I gave him a pseudonym, but somehow I felt that I shouldn't tell him my real name. 

"Are you new here?" the boy asked. "Or are you just visiting a relative?" 

"Ah, ah," I said, shaking my finger playfully at him. "I answered your question, you answer mine." 

"Remus," the boy said, giving me a surprisingly elegant bow. 

I nodded. Then I stopped nodding as realization struck me. Hit me like a bludger to the head, actually. 

"Remus?" I asked, my voice higher than normal. "Remus Lupin?" 

The boy nodded and said, "Have we met?" 

"Uh…" I was at a loss. This boy not only shared the same name as the current DADA teacher, he looked like a younger version of him. He obviously _was a younger Remus Lupin. "I…I think I need to talk to the headmaster," I finally managed to choke out. _

"There's been an accident he needs to know about." Catastrophic screw-up was more like it. 

"Are you hurt?" the boy…Professor Lupin… Remus asked, his voice filled with concern. 

"No," I quickly reassured him. "I am not… injured. But I absolutely _must see the headmaster." _

"All right, if you are sure you are all right…" Remus said. I nodded my head vigorously. He shrugged and said, "Since you are new here, I'll lead you there." 

I didn't know how to correct him without revealing too much. I certainly couldn't say, "No, don't worry, I've been a student here for over five years. I can find my way there." Somehow, I thought that would lead to more questions I couldn't answer. 

He turned down the corridor beckoning me to follow. "So," he said, "you never answered my question. Are you visiting?" 

"Oh," I said, unsure of how much to tell him. "Uh… I am not sure." He looked at me, and I felt compelled to clarify. "I…should go home, but I don't know the Headmaster will do." 

"Ah," Remus nodded. "I understand." His voice indicated otherwise, but he did not pursue the matter. 

He began to gesture around him. "The castle usually isn't this deserted, but this is a Hogsmeade weekend, so most of the student body is in town." We turned down a cross corridor. "The castle is very confusing," Remus said, warming up to his role as a tourguide. "The stairs move around at will and often rooms switch locations." Together we pressed ourselves against the wall as a group of chattering ghosts floated by. I didn't pull in tight enough and an edge of one of the ghosts passed through me. I shivered as the cold washed through my body. 

"Watch out for the ghosts, Lupin," a snide voice said from down the hall. "Wouldn't want them to feel as though they are dying again from having to touch you." 

"Well, I wouldn't want to hurt your only friends. Even if they are already dead. Couldn't find anyone _living to go to Hogsmede with who could stand you long enough?" I looked down at my feet, determined not to get involved in the argument. I didn't want to affect the past anymore than I had to. _

The other boy slid up closer and hissed through his teeth at Lupin. I strained my ears and was just able to make out the "Couldn't find anyone to add to the dead around this place?" 

"Stuff it, Snape," Lupin said, his face paling, and his voice humming with anger. 

My head jerked up, as though on a string, when Lupin identified the boy. I stared curiously at the boy, same age as the one next to me, dressed all in black. 

As Remus and I walked past him, my eyes locked with his. His hair was long and stringy, but not greasy. He was pale, but not sallow, and his nose was nowhere near as hooked as Professor Snape's was. _It will probably be broken in the future, I thought. _

He looked like the Potions Master that I remembered, but younger, of course, and somehow, more carefree. _Well obviously he is more carefree, my ever-present internal monologue supplied. __He hasn't had a chance to become a death eater, murder innocents, and verbally torture helpless students. _

He watched me, his dark eyes alert and wary. I could almost swear that he could tell that I was not from this time. I couldn't seem to break eye contact with him. I would never have stared at the Potions Master of my time like that, but with the normal student/teacher barrier gone…something happened. It was like…electricity. I had never felt more alive, more…with a start, I pulled my eyes from his and promised myself I would never again think the thoughts that had been creeping through my mind. 

A promise broken as soon as it was made, sadly. 

Remus and I continued down the hall, but I could feel Snape's eyes on me until we turned. Perhaps he had sensed the connection too. 

An hour later, I was making my way to my new room in the Gryffindor Tower. Dumbledore had offered me tea and lemon drops, listened to my story, and given his permission to experiment to try to return to my own time. In the meantime, he recommended I continue with my classes so as not to lose out on my education or arouse suspicion. We cam up with a story about how I had just transferred from Durmstrang. I would remain a Gryffindor and take classes with the other sixth years. 

"Miss…Ranger," Dumbledore said. "I know you are in possession of certain facts about the future…" His voice invited my comment so I said carefully, "Yes…" He nodded and continued, "I believe that it would be in the best interests of everyone if you did as little to affect the future as possible. Changing one thing too many could cause countless catastrophes." He paused, considering his next words. "If you save one life now you might be dooming a thousand lives to death later." At my horrified gasp, he hurried to reassure me. "Now, I am not saying that will happen. I am just hoping that you can see that discretion is the better option here." 

I was stunned into silence, thinking about what I could change, and what I could cause. If I stopped Voldemort from killing Harry's parents, he would not be an orphan or ever have to live with the Dursleys. But then, Sirius wouldn't go to Azkahban, and Ron would never have his rat who would never bite Malfoy…and Voldemort would never lose his body…one change, ripples that affect everything. My throat constricted and I answered Dumbledore in a hoarse voice, "I see what you mean." I looked up at him, lost. "How do I know what I can do and what I cannot do?" I asked, seeking his guidance. 

"Use your intelligence, Miss Ranger. If you know something must occur, do not do anything to stop it. I believe that the rest will take care of itself from there." He smiled as he ushered me out the door. 

The headmaster's warning made me far more cautious than my usual self. For the first several days, I was too scared to even breathe incorrectly, certain that one dust mote in the wrong place would cause Argus Filch to have to spend extra time cleaning which would keep him from prowling the halls, which would allow students to start dueling…let's just say that stress was my constant companion at first. After a few days, I got over the constant 'what-if-ing' and settled into my new home. Because of this initial uncertainty, my new classmates got the impression that I was quiet and shy and generally left me to my own devices. Which was exactly what I wanted. I am sure you can guess what happened once I became more comfortable in the past. I eventually became friendly with the Gryffindors in my year. I was on speaking terms with the Marauders and Lily, but I was not close to any of them. Their being in seventh year, and my wanting to preserve the future helped keep us apart. 

Besides, how could I tell Lily and James that they would be dead in less than five years, or Sirius that he would spend thirteen years in hell betrayed by one of his friend? In fact, almost without exception, my classmates all had dismal futures. In my time, Sirius was still hunted, James and Lily dead, Remus had a job, but was regarded with suspicion. The Longbottoms were insane and in St. Mungo's, Snape was forced to submit to Voldemort's every whim, Minerva was still alone, even Dumbledore had a fistful of problems. So, I did my best to remain cordial with them, but I didn't go out of my way to join any of the groups. "Mya" tried to stay on the sidelines, and for the most part, she succeeded. 

For the most part. 

I was considered strange by many of my classmates. None would say it to my face, of course, but they could see that I was different. Often I would inadvertently reveal some small bit of the future—use slang that wasn't invented yet—any number of little things, and any rapport I had developed with the person I was speaking to would disappear. The fact that I refused to take Divination sealed my reputation for oddness. That I could make predictions about the future without any lessons about it made others very wary of me. I also learned, the hard way, that most people do not want to know about their futures, no matter how much they say they do. A small few were also put off by my Muggle heritage. There weren't nearly as many Muggle-born students at Hogwarts as there had been in my time. It was a trying and often lonely time for me. 

So, alone and mistrusted, I spent my extra time studying the accident that had caused my temporal dislocation, but to no avail. None of the steps I took recreated the circumstances of the mishap. Of course, I was watchful, taking care that I didn't send myself into the past another twenty-four years. Though, having Dumbledore as a Transfiguration Professor was an interesting idea. 

When it became obvious, even through my unrelenting determination, that I was going to be unable to send myself back in the same manner that I had arrived, I began to search for other ways. It was in this self-guided course of study that I became friends with the person I would have normally picked last. Severus Snape. The chemistry between us, first felt on that initial meeting, was obvious every time we passed each other in the hallways, or bumped into each other in town. Even in the classes we shared, I could feel it like an aura around the room. 

*** 

I put down the quill for a moment, trying to gather up my Gryffindor courage. This next part was going to be the hardest. I rubbed my temples, trying to dispel the rapidly forming headache. I was going to need all my wits to last through this night. I still had a battle with a demon in the dungeons ahead of me. With a wry grin at my skewed sense of humor, I returned to the story. 

*** 

It was near the beginning of the school year in this timeline too so, I didn't have too much catching up to do. In fact, in most of my classes, I was ahead of those in my year. In my potions class, I was ahead of everyone in every year. Except for one person. Severus Snape. 

Our Potions Professor—he was not a Master of the subject—decided that since there was little he could teach us, we should work together on an independent course of study. I suppose what happened was inevitable; we were spending large amounts of unsupervised time together, and there was that damnable electricity between us. I tried to resist. I knew what future he was destined for, and it didn't include me. Besides, when I found a way back to my own time, there could be no hope for any relationship. Students did not date professors. _And, a very quiet internal voice added, __what would Harry and Ron think? So, I fought the feelings with every ounce of my Gryffindor stubbornness. _

My resistance lasted about a month. Severus wasn't the greasy git of the future. His hair was long and lank, his pale face all angles and hard lines, but his eyes…I could get lost in his eyes. He was in his seventh year, and I knew what would happen to him after graduation. I couldn't stop it. But I also couldn't stop myself. 

*** 

I sighed and put down the quill and picked up the glass of brandy that was sitting conveniently within reach. I took a sip, wanting to gulp, wanting to use the alcohol to blunt the pain of the intervening years. 

I still find it ironic that the one person I had ever met who was in-sync with me was only able to be with me because of an accident. If I had discovered his personality or sense of humor when he was my Potions professor, there would have been no relationship. The student I was could never handle a relationship with the man he had become. Not without losing herself in him, any way. As students, however, we were equals—our feelings had a chance. My accident had enabled me to find love. If it weren't so serious, I am sure I would find it very funny. 

I picked up the quill, resolutely determined to finish the story before the alarm went off. Tonight, it would all be over. 

*** 

I fell in love. It was unexpected to say the least, but he already shared my soul. He loved learning as much as I did. He was constantly asking questions, searching for the answers, growing. He had a sense of humor that was dry and cutting, but was totally in-sync with mine. He could make me smile just by raising an eyebrow. He gave me joy, and I brought him peace. 

I don't want you to get the idea that our relationship was leaping through sunlit meadows and birds singing and all that other romantic nonsense. It was more like a torrential downpour complete with thunder, lightning, and the occasional hailstone. It took me some time to get past the idea that someday this man would be my teacher. But I _did get over it. We were two strong-willed, opinionated people; arguments were inevitable. Several times, if not for the silencing charms, I think the entire castle would have heard our arguments. Despite the fights, there was always respect. The younger me was often scared and intimidated by the older him, but the current me was—occasionally intimidated—but never scared of the younger him. Even in the heat of an argument, when his face was contorted with rage or righteous fury, he never frightened me. _

I could see the undercurrents of darkness, just below the surface. They were what caused him to be rude and cruel to the other students, but not to me. There was always restraint when dealing with me. 

Our relationship soon branched from the spiritual and emotional into physical. It was never just sex; it was making love. Because there was undeniable love there. Love I could never, never admit to. One night, as he held me, he whispered, "I love you," into my hair, and I held the future in my hand. In one palm, a thread where I answered him "I love you, too" and he never went over to Voldemort. In the other, a thread where I said nothing, and he followed the path laid out for him. I kept my mouth shut. And it was in that instant that I killed the Severus Snape I knew. 

***

I paused in my writing again. I had known what my silence would do to him, but I didn't stop it. Again I sighed, realizing why I never before put down on paper what had happened. I was terrible at telling the story. I knew I wasn't capturing the feelings I had felt at the time. The anguish I caused, the anguish I felt. The love, the anger, the passion. Ron and Harry would never have called me passionate about anything except school, but I was passionate about him. Merlin, was I ever. On paper, it looked so cold, so unemotional, when at the time I was breaking two hearts. 

I carefully opened the desk drawer and fished around for the little key that I had never used. Finding it, I stared at it, undecided. With a shake of my head (and a quick gulp of the brandy) I took it over to the bookshelf. Stretching to my full height I felt around on the top shelf for the box I knew would be there. I pulled it down and gently blew the layer of dust off. I fit the key into the lock and opened it. I swallowed convulsively as the memories flowed over me. Deciding to leave most of the items in the case for another time, I pulled out the picture. The one picture ever taken of Severus and myself together. 

In the picture, Severus' normally severe look was replaced by an almost smile. As I watched, his image glanced toward mine and his visage softened further. My image just waved frantically at the picture, a grin nearly cracking her face in two. 

I had kept the picture on my desk for a few years, until the memories became too painful to see every single day. I had locked it up, promising myself I would look at it again on the right night. This night. The picture alone almost said more than the feet of parchment I had already covered. I returned to the desk and propped the photo up. It was in it's place of honor and I stared at it, willing it to give me the courage to continue. It helped. As did another sip of the brandy. Resignedly, I picked up the pen again, determined to do my level best to finish the tale. 

*** 

He joined Voldemort soon after graduation, and I didn't even try to stop him because I knew that I could. Three words and he would have had an entirely different future. A future that _could have resulted in us living happily-ever-after with a family, or one that could have Voldemort not accepting Severus' rejection of evil and killing him for daring to defy the great Lord Voldemort. At least with the path I chose, I knew he would live. He wouldn't be __happy, but he would be alive. _

My final year at Hogwarts slipped by almost unnoticed. I continued my research for a way back to my own time with no success. When I finally graduated, I was unsure what to do with my life. In the future, I had had it all mapped out: a university, apprenticeship, Mastery, and a professorship. Doing research, helping the world. In this time, my need to protect the future overshadowed my need to have a future. I had reluctantly accepted that there was no way back to my time, despite examination of every branch of magic, and I was looking for direction. I wandered the world. Tours of Muggle cities and visits to ancient wizards, where learned everything I could, occupied my time, but I had no real objective. I was in France, studying witches of the Renaissance, when I heard that Hogwarts was in need of a Divination Professor. 

Curious, I did a little research and to my surprise found that there was no witch by the name of Sybill Trelawney anywhere in the entire world. The charlatan I remembered from my school days in the future seemed not to exist. It was then that I made my decision. I wrote to Dumbledore asking him to consider me for the position and signed the letter Sybill Trelawney. I began to study Divination with a vengeance. Making up for five years of missed classes in five days is not a recommended course of action. A reply finally came care of a Hogwarts school owl. I was to apparate to the gates the next day for an interview. That allowed me one day to perfect a charm to make me look like the Professor Trelawney I vaguely remembered. 

First, I wove a spell that would make me look thinner than I really was. Next were the glasses that were etched into my memory. I was starting to look like a bug. Perfect. With a few more muttered words, I completed the transformation. I began to practice the whispery, wispy voice I remembered from my third year. It was late before I got to bed but it was worth it. I was now Sybill Trelawney. 

Dumbledore seemed to buy my act, but something in his eyes told me that he knew who was really under the glamour. He asked me for a demonstration of my abilities and I pulled out a crystal ball. I gazed into it and gasped. Upon his question of what I saw, I answered, "I see that you are going to hire me." He laughed and looked at me shrewdly. I matched his gaze, confident behind my concealing eyeglasses. My prediction was proven correct; he hired me. I knew I was qualified for the job, despite my lack of class work in the subject and my total disdain for anyone who would waste their time trying to decipher tea leaves or stare into a crystal ball. I was one of the few people who actually *did* know what was going to happen in the future. 

Two years after I joined the faculty of Hogwarts, Severus returned. He was much changed from the last time I had seen him and the differences pained me. I saw what I had helped bring about, and I wished things could have been different. He looked broken, hurt almost beyond recognition by what he had done, what he had been forced to do. He dully shook hands with me as Dumbledore introduced us. He didn't realize who it was; he didn't even try to see under the glamour. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't upset, that it was just proof of my powers as a witch that he did not recognize me. But it caused hurt when he who I had loved—still loved—so deeply couldn't look past the glasses and scarves to see my soul. 

I determinedly moved on with my life, remaining almost exclusively in the tower, not coming down very often. Dumbledore even allowed me to skip teacher's meetings on a regular basis—I supposed his decision was supported by the rest of the faculty as I had worked my hardest to make myself odious to the other professors, and none of them, after a year or two, even tried to be friendly. Predicting their terrible demises was one of my few diversions. It always tweaked McGonagall when I told her that she would be dead before the year was out. Every time I mentioned this or that catastrophe that was sure to befall her, she would sniff, look down her nose, and turn away, studiously ignoring me. I believe what really caused her intense dislike of me, though, was my tendency to predict disastrous failures of the Gryffindor Quidditch team at every opportunity. Even Professor Flitwick, widely regarded as the most patient and kindest professor, and one whom I had always regarded favourably, gave up on me when I started telling him how to teach his class. 

I freely admit, at every faculty meeting I was forced to attend, I just waited for any possible opening to make a prediction in my most mysterious voice. That my visions were usually incomprehensible rubbish only enhanced my fun. Every once in a while, I threw in a real prediction, just to keep my credibility up. It wasn't long before I was regarded as a hopeless wishy-washy of subnormal intelligence. If asked a question, I would pontificate some nonsense about the physical world clouding my "Inner Eye." I believe the rest of the faculty thought I spent my days in incense-induced hallucinations. I didn't do anything to dispel this notion. In actuality, I spent my free time—of which there was a lot—perfecting my abilities in other areas. I excelled in Potions and Arithmancy, finding the logic of these disciplines to be soothing. Of course, my Charms abilities improved greatly, as I was forced to maintain a spell about myself at all times. 

Events began to unfold as history demanded. I did nothing to stop Voldemort. I revealed none of what I knew of the future to Dumbledore and those fighting the Dark Lord. I realize now, as I realized then, that the timeline must be preserved, but allowing people to suffer and die when I could have done something, went against every bone in my body. 

I sat back and watched as Voldemort gained power. I said nothing as he carried out his vengeance against James and Lilly, as Sirius was wrongly taken to Azkahban, as Peter Pettigrew joined the Weasley family, and I stayed away from the rejoicing that celebrated "The-Boy-Who-Lived." I carried on alone. 

The years between my assumption of the new identity and my younger self's arrival were fairly uneventful. I taught Bill and Charlie Weasley, suffered through classes with Percy, was amazed by Oliver Wood's spatial acuity, and laughed—silently—at Fred and George's antics. I was able to see a completely different side of those I knew when I was younger, and that, in itself, almost made the accident worth it. Almost. I could also see Severus sinking deeper and deeper into his moral quagmire. He considered himself evil and went about making it a self-fulfilling prophesy. I knew he was lonely—hell, I was lonely, but there was nothing either of us could do to fix the situation. One by one, he isolated himself from the rest of the faculty nearly as well as I had. The only difference is that while they stayed away from him in difference to his apparent wishes, they stayed away from me because of true dislike. It is rather ironic to think about—I was actually the most hated teacher in the school, and even if Severus started murdering his students, he probably couldn't catch up to me in the amount of sheer loathing directed at my person. 

The day I was dreading came, as days are wont to do. The day my younger self arrived at Hogwarts. I was sitting at the head table, Dumbledore making it clear that I must be present at the first meal, when my younger self came in with the rest of her—my—class. It was slightly amusing to see how scared I had been at the time, but seeing Ron and Harry made me realize how much I had missed my friends. I had changed a lot in the intervening years, but deep inside me was the old Hermione, and she almost forced her way out that night. I had to bite my lip to keep from calling out to Harry and Ron. From where I sat at the head table I could see Severus' reaction as Minerva called out Hermione Granger to be sorted. His face went deathly pale and his eyes narrowed as he studied my younger self. 

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted, and cheers erupted throughout the hall. 

I could see the instant when he realized that Mya Ranger and Hermione Granger were the same person. His breathing became shallow, and his hands clutched spasmodically at his goblet. I looked at Dumbledore to see what the Headmaster was making of the situation. He was slyly glancing from me to Severus, an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. Minerva's ringing voice as she called out "Harry Potter!" finally broke the unbearable tension that had been radiating from Severus. His lips curled up into a sneer as the spitting image of James nervously sat on the stool. The sneer was paired up with a glare as the hat called out "Gryffindor!" Severus resolutely returned to his meal. Only the willpower that I had developed over the years kept me in my seat throughout the meal. Tears pricked my eyes, and I excused myself as soon as I could. Seeing my old friends, myself, so young only emphasized what I had lost. I wanted the pain to end. Oh…how I wanted it to end. 

I suppose it is a good thing that students do not begin Divination until their third years because by the time the first day of school rolled around, I was in a much better state of mind. I knew I couldn't spare any of my classmates the pain they were going to encounter, but I could have a little fun with them. Brighten their lives a little. 

Their first day of class. Oh, that was so much fun! From the moment I made the silvery staircase open at Harry's words until I dismissed them, I had the time of my life. The classroom--with the red lighting, the hideous furniture, the assortment of teacups--all of it remembered from my first day of class. I'll admit it now, the one thing I really regret, looking back on my years as a Divinations teacher, was my copious use of sickly sweet incenses. If I never have to smell that stuff again, it will be too soon. 

"Welcome," I told them in my most misty and mysterious voice. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last." From the looks they gave me, I could tell that I had them completely fooled. No one would ever see Hermione Granger under the voice, the glasses, beads, bracelets and robes that Sybill Trelawney wore. I began the class with all my, now routine, mumbo-jumbo about how Divination is difficult, books are worthless, the standard spiel. I then started making predictions I knew would come true. I have always had a good memory and spouting the visions my younger self had heard in class was remarkably simple. 

Neville and his cup, Lavender and the thing she was dreading, the student who would leave forever—though that one was slightly untrue as I would still be there after all—all the predictions returned to me. As for Harry, it was remarkably simple to tell him that he had a dog/Grimm in his tealeaves. I could see its effect on him and considered that it was slightly unfair to use my previous information to torment them. I shrugged that off easily. They had it coming for every time they had teased me about studying too much. The only problem I could see with the coming years was that that I would have to put up with Lavender and Parvati even more as I could see that I was quickly becoming their favorite teacher. No rest for the wicked, and all that. 

*** 

The words were coming easier as I shook out the cramp in my hands. I sipped my brandy and watched the candle flicker in the drafts from the open windows. The timepiece indicated that the hour was approaching. I resumed my writing. 

*** 

The one major regret I had was that I was unable to visit my parents. Officially that is. Over the two decades, I had made several appointments to have my teeth cleaned with them, thus allowing me to have a small amount of contact with them. It was amazingly cheering to see them working at a job they loved. They confided in me as though I were a prized patient, telling me how happy they were to be married. Seeing my mother pregnant with me was a shock, let me tell you. Avoid that if you ever can. I was steadied by these infrequent contacts with them, and I must admit my teeth were certainly well cared for. They never noticed the resemblance between their precocious toddler and me. Why should they? 

Magic hadn't yet entered their lives; they were still sheltered. Several times, I had to attribute my tears to a toothache, when it was really heartache. I wanted so much to confide in them, but I didn't. I preserved their innocence. I toasted my birthday, the actual day of my birth, with several bottles of excellent wine, purloined from the kitchens, the largest, gooiest chocolate cake I could find, and the world's most remarkable hangover. 

*** 

With a snort, I dropped the quill. I remembered that day. In fact, I sometimes I swear I can still feel the headache I had the following morning. But it was worth it. For one delicious night, I was able to forget completely. I had dropped the Charm that hid my features and was Hermione Granger again. I figured it was the least I could do to celebrate the day I was born. After all, how many people can say they got drunk on the day they entered the world? 

*** 

And so the years passed. I saw myself grow up, and with age came some wisdom. I could see that as an adolescent, I had been something of a know-it-all. I discovered just how annoying it is when one student constantly raises her hand with the correct answer. The other students never even tried, knowing that my younger self was sure to be right. I could only imagine what my other professors had thought of my behavior. I know I breathed a sigh of relief when my younger self finally quit my class. Severus' methods of teaching also came into focus. He always got the best effort out of his students; I, on the other hand, got pages and pages of Harry and Ron's death predictions, Never-Break-China from George and Fred (wonderful invention of theirs, that was), and simpering, hero-worship from Lavender and Parvati. While all this was funny—some of the antics of my students I laughed about for hours—they had no real value. No one in the school had any real talent at predicting the future. 

To my dismay, history played out true, and I became the favorite teacher of Brown and Patil. They would often come, unannounced to my tower, and stay for hours talking about how they were sure that the dreams they had were visions of the future. As if their future included marrying famous Quidditch players! Now if they had been dreaming about winning the war against Voldemort, that would have been something worthwhile. Even when I had been their classmate, we had had very little in common. Now, the differences were enough to give me a headache no potion could cure. I could make a wager that Severus Snape didn't have students _ever drop by unannounced and prattle on for hours. His lack of interpersonal skills was something I began to envy. There were many times that I wished I could just yell "Longbottom, out!" and be done with it. I could understand that the boy didn't have much self-confidence, but, honestly…what did it take to get an effort out of him? _

I was also—to my shame—often disgusted with my younger self. First, her bossiness. The imperious way she ordered everyone around. The most terrible part was that I was fairly certain that that bossy streak was still an integral part of me. Then, the way she fell for that Lockhart-twit. Yes, he was nice to look at, and yes, he was nice to her, but honestly, if she were going to let her hormones run rampant, why couldn't they be for someone worth it? My grown-up view of the man was the same as Severus': loathing. To give the odious popinjay some credit, he did prove to be a help to me in a rather unexpected way. It was his attitude that I copied to ensure that the rest of the faculty despised me. As for my younger self, I am pleased to say, her third year, I was rather proud of her. She stood up to me, figured out Remus' secret, and generally acquitted herself adequately. 

Remus. Remus was added to the list of people I had to avoid. I couldn't risk the chance that he would look past the charms and see the sixth year Gryffindor he had met all those years ago in the hall. The one he had become friends with. The isolation was difficult, but I knew I had to endure it. What really surprised me was that he never seemed to put Mya Ranger together with Hermione Granger. Perhaps because we hadn't been all that close in school. 

I guess it may seem odd, but I was starting to think of my younger self as a separate person all together. Then again, I suppose that is only natural I think that, after all, at this time, she _is a separate entity. _

Her fourth year, I was very happy for her. That she came out of her shell enough to go out with Victor made me happy. And the way she dazzled everyone at the Yule Ball. It was quite satisfying to see the faces of Ron and Harry as they realized that their friend was almost a woman. I remembered Victor fondly too. He had been my first kiss. It had never progressed beyond that, and the relationship ended soon after the summer began, but he was a very pleasant person to be around. At least, when he could focus his mind on things other than Quidditch. Even after nearly thirty years of observing the sport, I still could not see what the appeal was. 

Harry and Ron were a different story. I found that I was rather angry with Harry with the callous way he treated Ginny. He didn't even notice how much she cared about him. And Ron, he received the brunt of my fury. He didn't even notice how lovely my younger self had become. Though, to be fair, I hadn't realized it myself at the time. Not that it really mattered. He could never have a relationship with me now, but it would have brightened up my fifth year if he had shown some interest. 

*** 

The present drew me back as the alarm I had set earlier in the night chimed. It was time. The story was as good as done in any case. Sixth year, nothing to tell really, the accident had happened before it had really begun. I put down the quill, took a last sip of the brandy, and looked heavenward for courage. I looked at the photo, gently caressing the image, and found that the memories no longer burned. They had settled to a dull ache. It was time to go. I removed several of the gauzy layers that I used to conceal myself, feeling that there was no point in antagonizing him anymore than I had to. I let down the silvery stairs and began my journey to the dungeons. 

On the way, down I stopped at the kitchens for the item I had had the house elves set out for me. My legs grew heavier and heavier and my steps slower as I neared my destination. Finally, I was outside _his door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked. _

And waited. And waited. Silence greeted me. There was no answer. I was at a loss. This event had not entered into my calculations. The speeches I had prepared, the explanations, all flew out of my head at this unexpected turn of events. I turned away, unsure what to do next, when the door behind me flew open. 

I whirled around and there, in front of me was Severus. His face looked as though he had been sleeping, but his clothes were the same severe black. The glare was definitely familiar. That much hadn't changed since our youth. 

"Sybill," he sneered. "To what do I owe the…_pleasure…of your visit? Come to inform me of my imminent death?" _

I swallowed, nervously and said, "Aren't you going to invite me in?" In my anxiousness, I had neglected to affect my usual wispy tones. 

Severus raised an eyebrow at the question and the voice in which it was presented, but stepped aside. I entered the rooms, careful not to brush against him in the process. I had never been inside his personal rooms and for a moment I could not speak. Every available wall space seemed to be filled with books. My eyes darted left and right, up and down as I tried to take in this cornucopia of the written word. A cough from behind me pulled me back to reality. 

"While my collection is extensive," Severus drawled, his voice brimming with vitriol, "I regret to inform you that there are no books on tealeaf reading in it." 

I pinned him with a glare and spat out, "My reading tastes hardly tend in that direction, Severus." Again, I neglected to infuse my voice with excessive mystery, and I could tell that the change was throwing him off balance. _Good, I thought, __serves you right for not recognizing me. Here, in this enclosed space, alone with him, I__ could again feel that which had drawn us together all those years ago._

"Did you have a reason for coming down here at…" he checked his time piece, "two in the morning? Or did you just feel the need to wake me up?" 

Screwing up my courage, I forced the words out. "The accident that pushed Hermione into the past has occurred." He said nothing, and I continued, in that same matter-of-fact voice, "I thought you should know." 

His face immediately tightened and he turned away from me. "Really, did you divine that all by yourself? Or did your crystal ball tell you?" He didn't wait for an answer but continued with, "Contrary to popular belief, I can tell the date. I know." His back was still to me, and I could see the tension in his shoulders. 

I debated the wisdom of my next move but decided a "damn the torpedoes" attitude was called for. I stood next to him and put my hand on his shoulder, saying, "I am so sorry, Severus. I know how much this hurts." 

He violently threw my hand off and whirled on me. "You know what I am feeling?" he sneered. "How can you possibly think you understand?" He moved in closer, his tall body, draped in black, looming over my slight frame. I felt a slight spurt of fear as he said, "Staring at the stars too long?" The fear worried me. When we were younger, I was never afraid of him. The changes on the outside had apparently spread to the inside. He was in desperate need of healing. He continued, not noticing my slight preoccupation, and spurred on by the fear in my eyes. "Your incense finally addled your brain completely, Sybill? You cannot begin to comprehend…" 

The fear disappeared suddenly, and the anger flared in me. I stabbed him with a glare and practically shouted, "Understand? Of course I understand! I have had to feel the same pain every goddamned day!" The anger leaked out of my voice to be replaced by a form of helpless despair. "If you had just bothered to look beyond your own hooked nose you could have…" I broke off, shaking my head; all that belonged in the past. No matter how much I had wanted him to see through the act, it was better that he hadn't. Tears fell down my cheeks as I remembered the twenty years of isolation and derision from my colleagues. The past still had the power to injure. 

He was silent, unsure what to make of my outbreak. To be fair, the Sybill he knew would neither have said nor done anything like what had just transpired. I looked up at him, the anger dissipating, leaving only the sadness. I pulled off my glasses; glasses which had provided an impenetrable barrier, keeping anyone from realizing who was there in front of them. I gazed into his eyes with my own, and I could see the realization dawning. The connection of our relationship from the past was reestablishing itself. 

I quietly muttered, "Finite Incantum Totalus," and the last of the spells that concealed me disappeared. I was myself again. 

He said nothing. He just stood there, looking at me, not touching, barely breathing. His body was rigid with tension and there was a look in his eyes that I could not interpret. A muscle in his cheek quivered. The air was so thick, I was surprised I could still see him through it. 

"Severus?" I said, scared that I had hurt him beyond his capacity to forgive. I tentatively reached out a hand to him. 

My touch seemed to break him out of his shock, and he breathed, "Hermione." My heart shuddered. It had been twenty years since I had been called that. Faster than I could react, he drew me into his arms. He nearly crushed me with the strength of his grip. He began to cry, the sobs racking his body. I too felt the tears running down my face as I held onto the only man I had ever loved. Together we supported each other. I reached up and drew his face close to mine. Our lips almost touching, I looked him deep in the eyes, I said, "I love you." I tried to infuse in those words the apology for twenty years of loneliness, and I knew, by the softening of his eyes, that he understood what I meant. Sorry that I didn't return the words of love when he had uttered them; sorry that I hadn't stopped him from joining Voldemort; sorry for twenty years of hiding from him. 

He pulled me into a crushing embrace and I could just hear him breathe, "I love you, too," into my hair. In his voice there was sorrow for the past, but it was mixed with joy for the times to come. 

We were together. At last. 

** The End ** 

** 

Let me know what you think! Like all people, I can only grow as a writer with feedback! 

A/N: This came to me one morning. The idea that Hermione was Sybill came from who knows where. Kinda different though, no? I know there have been several Hermione goes back in time stories posted lately, but, in all the ones I have read, Hermione makes it back to her original time. My thinking was: what if she can't get back. What would she do? 

Clarification of timeline (in math form): 

when SS=35, HG1=12 when SS=39, HG1=16, ST=38 HG1=HG2 @time of accident HG2=ST Total time traveled by HG1 = 22years 

I also want to thank all the WIKTT and HG/SS writers. All your wonderful stories have inspired me to write again (after almost two years of nothing), and I hope to see some of the more fantastic ones finished soon! 

The line "He gave me joy, and I brought him peace" (hidden somewhere in the middle of the story) is a direct quote from my godmother's eulogy at my godfather's funeral. And so, I dedicate this story to the memory of Roman J. Sentowski. Because even in times of great sadness, there can be great joy. I had hoped you would be there to give me away at my wedding, but since you can't be there in person, your memory will be more than adequate. 

Written: Sunday, 23 June 2002

Edited: Week of June 24, 2002

Beta Read: 2 July 2002 by inque_black, 3 July 2002 by starlatt 

Final editing: 9 July 2002 

Published: 10 July 2002 Reposted: 16 July 2002 

Gotta mention my beta again. She caught every awkward phrase and typo, and any that still remain were added after the beta-ing and are solely my fault. Thanks again, inque_black, you rock! 

***


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